


born to make history

by EyeOfKaleidoscope



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And I do mean everyone, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, Femslash, Gen, Genderbending, Not Beta Read, Suicidal Thoughts, but still true to the cultural origin and similar enough to the original, everyone's sex has changed, gosh it was so hard finding names that were feminine, i tried my hardest, if all else fails just use the surnames, literally making history, no the title isn't just a reference, somewhat canon compliant but liable to change, viktoria is a lot of an ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeOfKaleidoscope/pseuds/EyeOfKaleidoscope
Summary: "No female in the history of ice skating has ever managed to successfully land a quad."Viktoria Nikiforov is five-time Grand Prix champion, has a room dedicated to dusty medals, and sends the general public into heart palpitations every time she winks at the camera.Katsuki Yuuki is first-time qualifier for Grand Prix Finals, has a shrine dedicated to skater idol Viktoria Nikiforov, and can never convince herself that she's worth it.Yuki Plisestsky is fresh out of the junior division, has a dartboard with Viktoria's face on it, and thinks that being strong means isolating herself.Viktoria Nikiforov is bored. Katsuki Yuuki is terrified. Yuki Plisetsky is lonely.None of them believe in fate, so it could only be coincidence that their lives collide into a supernova."Not one female, but that won't stop them from trying."(trigger warnings: detailed descriptions of the process and consequences of eating disorders, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and more to come. rated for these reasons.)





	1. everything in moderation including moderation itself

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: detailed descriptions of the process and consequences of eating disorders, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and more to come. please be careful or skip over this fic if any of these things bother you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how a genderbend fic will be received in this fandom since YOI enforces a lot of LGBT sentiments, but i got this little plot bunny and just had to write it out
> 
> so here we are
> 
> if you clicked, thanks for checking this story out! i hope the names aren't too confusing, and i apologize for any mistakes i make, about both ice skating and certain things that will be further developed as the story continues

Whenever Yuuki feels stressed or panicked, she likes to eat a lot.

Considering that she's a professional figure skater (in fact, one of Japan's top figure skaters (it still makes her giddy to think about it, much less say it aloud)), that option's out, so she sticks her earbuds in, blasts Greek folk music at the loudest possible decibel without destroying her ear drums, and skates. Something about the sounds of a lively tune matched by a voice singing in a language completely foreign to Yuuki's ears as she practices jumps and step sequences and spins is oddly comforting. Sometimes, it's much easier to not understand.

Then she doesn't have to worry about the fact that she's going to performing on this very ice against Viktoria Nikiforov in less than twenty-four hours.

Although to be fair, she's going to be competing against four other skaters, all terrifying in their own ways. Jessica Jacqueline "JJ" Leroy who makes a big show of sliding a tiara into her hair every time she steps out onto the ice, Michela Crispino who clings to her twin brother with the ferocity of an octopus when not performing on the ice, Bin Qing who's a surprising dark horse who managed to qualify for the GPF after placing bronze in Skate America and gold in Cup of China by bumping Pichitra-chan to silver by a full three points, and Kristina "Kris" Giacometti who's as straight as a circle.

The more Yuuki thinks about it, the more anxious she feels about tomorrow's free skate.

Especially since...well, Yuuki's not going to think about that. The whole reason she snuck out of the room she and Coach Celeste shared in the first place was to calm herself down. Tossing and turning in her bed all night won't result in anything other than back pains and a severe lack of sleep. At least, if she skates, she'll probably exhaust herself enough to pass out for a good five or six hours of solid sleep before being forced to wake up again.

Yuuki closes her eyes, launching off the inside edge and performing a single axel. She doesn't want to overexert herself the night (well, morning) before the big competition. Some of the most complicated jumps and step sequences she's ever been able to master are packed into that program. All she needs now is a wrong landing and everything could go to shit.

She's making her thirty-seventh lap of the rink when the playlist that has been playing on loop is suddenly interrupted by the default ringtone (Yuuki's never gotten around to changing it, and in all honesty, she quite likes the pretty chiming tune) that indicates an incoming call. Yuuki coasts to a stop by the opening into the rink and carefully pulls her phone out with numb hands. Warmth spreads through her cold body at the sight of her mother's smiling face beaming up at her, the caller ID parading happily across the screen. Yuuki quickly presses accept with her bare finger.

"Okaa-san?" Yuuki asks, slowly starting up her lazy circles again. A ghost of a smile brushes her lips because this is  _ exactly _ what she needs-her mother's soothing voice encouraging Yuuki, telling her that yes, she could do it, that she's done amazing so far and will continue to do so, that she's  _ worth _ it.

Instead, all Yuuki gets is stilted silence. A choked sob follows a moment later, and Yuuki almost trips over her feet in shock.

"O-Okaa-san? What's wrong?" Yuuki asks worriedly in Japanese, trying to tamp down the quickly growing worry as more muffled sobs reach her ears. She halts on the ice, the harsh sound of the blades sliding horizontally across ice echoing around the empty rink. "Why are you crying?"

"Y-Yuuki," her mother whispers, voice trembling and cracking around the syllables of her name. Yuuki swallows, staring out unseeingly into the empty stands. "I-I'm so  _ sorry _ ."

Yuuki blinks, automatically shaking her head despite no one being around to see or hear her. "Okaa-san?" Her voice is trembling, and all the warmth from earlier has suddenly been sucked out of her body, the ice spreading out from beneath her feet sucking her dry. 

"Vi-Vik-chan died." Another choked sob, and a keening noise echoes around Yuuki's head-from her, she realizes distantly. Everything seems so far away from her right now. "She passed away a couple minutes ago, in her sleep. I'm so sorry, Yuuki. You won't be able to show her your gold medal."

Yuuki's body freezes over.

Yuuki hates herself.

Some days, it's more intense than others, this coil of darkness and ugly, bitter feelings that are all fully self-directed. Other days, it loosens enough for her to skate without having to constantly worry about all the what if scenarios in the world, to laugh and smile in genuine cheer, and those are the best days.

It never fully disappears, though.

Right now, she hates herself more than ever, even as she shoves another forkful of some heavy, meaty Russian delicacy into her mouth. She doesn't know what it's called, and normally, she would be enjoying the way the delicious flavors all mingle together in her mouth, but more plates of high-calorie foods that she can't recognize are spread across the one-woman buffet table in front of her, and she can't stop the utter hate and loathing she feels towards herself.

Vik-chan is dead. Another mouthful, and by now Yuuki's stuffed so much food down her throat, the taste buds on her tongue are going numb. Vik-chan, her dog, her precious baby poodle, who she hasn't seen in five years because she's been too busy in Detroit and in competitions that send her flying all around the world, racking up expenses that Yuuki's earnings can just barely cover. Yuuki finishes that plate and stacks it atop the seven other plates she's already licked clean. She pulls the next dish closer to her-a red broth that smells heavenly, but when she dips her spoon into it and sips, she can barely even taste it. Vik-chan, who's been her support and anchor throughout her years of bratty child and angsty teenager, who let her cry herself dry onto satiny fur before nosing her chin and curling up right there on the uncomfortable floor because Vik-chan understood things about Yuuki that not even Yu-kun does. Yuuki's stomach rolls uncomfortably and she feels like a balloon that's about to burst, but she doesn't stop.

The soup is finished, and Yuuki moves on to the next plate, like a machine, an eating machine that is sick and tired and hates herself oh so much and and and-

_ Oh, god. _

Yuuki's hands fly up to cover her mouth, but it's no use. She has enough sense to grab the pile of napkins the hotel employee had generously left with her after bringing up the enormous feast she had ordered through room service before all that food comes flying back up out of her stomach, through her mouth, and into the wad of paper. Bile burns her throat as she retches, coughing up globs of whatever food she had just ingested, and her taste buds choose this time to come roaring back to life. A mess of tastes and textures assault her senses, and it's enough to make Yuuki hurl again, except this time, she hacks up nothing but bile. Everything else has emptied itself out onto the sticky mess that's covering her hands and her sweatpants, now covered in both sweat from her late night workout and copious amounts of vomit.

She blinks uncomprehendingly at the contents in her hands before a strangled sob erupts from her throat. She's so consumed by this new wave of utter hatred and loathing and depression that she doesn't notice the door leading to Coach Celeste's bedroom opening, or the lights turning on, or the cautious footsteps that slowly make their ways towards her until a soft, cold hand is pressed in between her shoulder blades while its partner carefully lifts the mass of napkins and throw up from Yuuki's hands.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Yuuki," Coach Celeste murmurs softly, her usually bright voice now soft and quiet. She drops the napkins on top of the dirty plates and lightly nudges Yuuki's back.

The Japanese skater slowly stands up and lets her coach lead her by the hand to the bathroom.

Vik-chan is dead, and here she is, sleeping in a five-star hotel in the same city as her long-time idol, wallowing in self-pity.

Yuuki sobs in the bathtub as scalding hot water pounds down onto her head and her back, pasting her sick-covered clothing to her skin, and she's never, ever,  _ ever _ hated herself more than she has in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, wow, that turned out darker than i expected. i hope that my portrayal of this situation wasn't too inaccurate or offensive. please let me know ASAP if it is!
> 
> and what am i doing when i already have two other large works in progress???? i'm sorry...for both you guys and myself for dragging us through this long ass ride
> 
> no update schedule! i'm a write with the flow type of author, so there's no set time for updates. see you guys next time!


	2. if at first you don’t succeed, get roaring drunk then try again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktoria meets drunk Yuuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, it's been a while, huh? apologies for the long wait, but inspiration finally struck and here's a second chapter! 
> 
> (viktoria's about of an asshole
> 
> also yuki is precious)

Viktoria Nikiforov is bored. Once upon a time, it would seem blasphemous. Five-time Grand Prix gold medalist, five-time World Champion, and too-many-to-count-time European Champion-not to mention all the tournaments preceding international level. Back then, when she had just been starting out, falling and scraping her knees every other step while she held the stars in her eyes-well, back then, she would’ve done anything to win and keep winning.

Now, she’d do anything to stop and sit down.

It’s a long list of never-ending chores now. Enter this competition here, meet these people there, what should we expect next season? Haven’t you already started choreographing your short program and free skate? Who’re you going to bring as your plus one to next year’s banquet?

Viktoria is just as tired as she is bored.

It’s another routine, skating out into the middle of the rink, flanked on both sides by competitors she doesn’t even bother to remember anymore. Just as normal as her morning routine.

Wake up, brush her teeth, eat breakfast. Place first in the Grand Prix Final.

There’s nothing else to do.

The crowd roars its approval as the commentators proclaim Viktoria’s fifth win in a row, and she’s moving on autopilot now, tilting her head up and smiling brightly at people she can’t see. She presses the cold medal to her lips, more of a practiced motion than an action of worship, and once more, the crowd explodes into sound.

Viktoria keeps smiling, and smiling, and wonders when this will all end.

Yuki “Yuka” Plisetsky is the most interesting thing Viktoria has encountered in the past three or four years. The blonde junior skater pulls off the androgynous look as well as Viktoria once had, with her chin-length locks painstakingly styled in a shaggy boy’s fashion, and her flat chest made even flatter by the binder she wears whenever she steps outside of her bedroom. Viktoria could hardly care about whether or not Yuki’s boobs are a B-cup or an A, but she  _ does  _ care about the way Yuki winces at every sharp movement, and how she’s slowly losing her breath with every single jump, if only because she can’t stand the idea of this type of girl losing because of a bad wardrobe choice.

Tonight, Yana has somehow managed to force Yuki into a simple dress-sky blue so as to rest against her disturbingly pale skin tone and make her strikingly green blue eyes pop, the style streamlined so as to hug her stick thin frame and give the illusion of curves that don’t exist. She must’ve taken off the binder, because Viktoria can see the telltale bumps that just barely manage to keep the strapless dress from completely falling off of Yuki. She grumbles the entire way to the banquet, self-consciously tugging at a primped lock of hair.

“Don’t worry,” Viktoria states in Russian, lightly batting Yuki’s hands away from her hair, “You actually look like a girl.”

Yuki’s growl is lost in the sudden rush of sound as Viktoria opens the doors, stepping into the large room fashionably late.

The next hour or so is a whirl of conversations with news reporters, other skaters, their coaches, and potential sponsors.  At some point, Yuki slips away and Viktoria loses her in the crowd. She can see Yana on the other side of the room, laughing at something an unnamed stranger says, before Viktoria’s attention is once again captured by another reporter.

It seems like an infinity has passed in which Viktoria’s lips have stretched into a permanent smile and her throat is dry and cracked from spouting pleasantries before she can finally make her way to the refreshments. Viktoria has no nervous ticks, not anymore, so when no one approaches her after a minute, then two, then three pass, she refuses to let her fingers fiddle with her necklace, or her earrings, or the errant strand of hair that has escaped the elaborate pin-up her stylist had done four hours in advance. Once she’s certain of her freedom from any prying souls, she picks up a flute of champagne from a line and gulps the bubbly liquid down in one gulp. Her lipstick leaves an imprint on the rim of the glass, and she picks up a napkin to wipe it off.

Viktoria is picking up a second glass when she notices her. Another woman, who looks to be only a few years younger than Viktoria herself. She’s clearly of Asian descent, with Oriental features that, while plain, are easy on the eyes. Viktoria busies herself with small sips of her drink while surreptitiously observing this isolated individual in such a celebratory environment. 

There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the stranger. Viktoria’s trained eye picks out the imperfections in her physical appearance as easily as it picks out the flaws in a short program. She sees the sagging breasts, the fat on the stomach and the thighs that the cut of the dress is clearly trying very hard to hide, the dry skin from spending too much time in the cold ice rink-everything physically unappealing about this stranger, Viktoria can see. 

But she can also see the beautiful parts. Small full lips, symmetrical features, toned arms and legs that are packed with lean muscle under all that fat-perfect for dancing, for graceful movements on land or ice. A balance between the good and the bad, all laid out for Viktoria.

The woman downs her fifteenth glass of champagne in the five minutes Viktoria has joined her at the table. The Russian skater considers doing the moral thing, which is taking all these champagne flute far away from the woman and handing her off to someone who’ll be able to take her back to her room or wherever she’s staying, but then the woman is setting the flute down with a decisive clink, and then she’s turning around, all fluid, cat-like grace, just like Yuki. She reaches up, grips a necklace with a silver pendant and yanks it off her neck before staggering away from the table and straight into the middle of the groups of figure skating elite, clearly drunk.

Viktoria hides a smirk behind the last of her champagne.

_ Well, this is about to get more interesting. _


End file.
